


If the Shoe Fits

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Foot Fetish, Interspecies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faramir gives Frodo a useless gift and several wonderful ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If the Shoe Fits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aprilkat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Aprilkat).



Title: If the Shoe Fits  
Characters/Pairing: Frodo/Faramir  
Rating: R  
Warnings/Categories: Slash, interspecies.  
Summary: Faramir gives Frodo a useless gift and several wonderful ones.  
Written For: [](http://aprilkat.livejournal.com/profile)[**aprilkat**](http://aprilkat.livejournal.com/), with very many hugs, in [](http://community.livejournal.com/lotr_sesa/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/lotr_sesa/)**lotr_sesa**.  
Disclaimer: The Ringbearer and the Steward aren't mine. I hope I can lend them a moment of happiness, however.

 

"What, my dear Man, are these?"

This was not the reply for which Faramir had hoped for upon the discovery of his surprise. Frodo stood before him where he sat in a chair of the hobbits' reception room, holding aloft a pair of beautiful calfskin boots. The boots, specially shaped to his long high-arched feet and slender calves, were crafted of sable leather embroidered with silver and highlighted with deep silken blue. Frodo held them up at his fingers' ends, rather as if they were the corpses of small strange creatures he'd found upon his bed.

"Boots, my Halfling beloved," Faramir replied as evenly as he might. He'd thought Frodo might be delighted, possibly puzzled, but not mildly disdainful, fine brows drawn down over deep blue eyes.

"Boots," Frodo repeated, incredulously. "Faramir, I am, as you have noticed, a hobbit."

"Yes, and you told me, last we dined together, that the stone of the city bruised your feet, which are but newly recovered." So Faramir had risen early the next day in order to steal a few moments, had ordered boots from the best cobbler in the Citadel, and had slipped into the guest house with Pippin's silently-giggling help to leave them as a surprise.

"Even so." Frodo lowered the boots, and smiled at Faramir, kindly as if at a disappointed child, warmly as befit from one lover to another. "Halflings are not accustomed to wear shoes. I've simply had my feet up rather too long; they'll toughen again with a little activity. As for these, they're lovely, but I have no use for them. Surely some young page of the Citadel might wear them?"

Faramir wasn't sure any lad had calves so slender nor feet so great, but he nodded and held out his hands, thinking to make the best of the situation. When Frodo brought him the boots he caught them in one hand and Frodo's wrist in the lightest grip with the other, and waited for Frodo's smile before drawing him close. "I only sought to present you a gift," Faramir murmured, slipping from his seat to lift Frodo into the chair; he smiled when Frodo indulged him and allowed himself to be raised, laying his hands warmly on Faramir's forearms and letting them slide slowly off as Faramir sat back on his heels.

"I appreciate it, greatly," Frodo told him with a smile. "But I would never use them, I know it. I couldn't bear for them to go to waste."

"Still, your fair feet." Faramir took one between his hands, running his fingers reverently through the thick curls that matched the ones on Frodo's wise head and between his sleek thighs. "I ran on these stone steps barefoot as a child. The thought of these beautiful feet bruised by them made mine ache in sympathy." Frodo chuckled doubtfully above him, and Faramir cradled the trim ankle in one hand and rubbed the ball behind the toes until the chuckle faded into a quiet little sigh of pleasure.

"I've walked over-- mmm -- walked across rougher ground than the smooth marble of Minas Tirith." Frodo sighed again, and Faramir heard the little creak as Frodo's head dropped back into the cushions of the chair, and the tiny moan when he brushed his lips across the warm thick-soled foot. "And I've been dreadfully idle these last months."

"You have earned any idleness," Faramir spoke over the skin of Frodo's ankle, brushing it with his beard to feel Frodo's minute shivers of pleasure. "The King himself ordered that you rest and heal."

"And plump up?" Frodo laughed breathlessly, for as Faramir steadily rubbed along the arch and heel he also kissed his way up Frodo's calf, tracing the thinning hair till the skin smoothed just above the hem of Frodo's halfling-style breeches. "Like a prize-- Faramir! Oh, I feel like a goose fattened for dinner!"

"Well, you are delicious." Having pushed the breeches up as far as they would go, Faramir licked the tender skin behind Frodo's knee, and smiled at the tremor he'd evoked. Frodo sat still as the carven statues Faramir had ducked behind as a child, but he breathed, and every breath came yet more shakily than the last. "The rarest delicacy that ever has passed my lips." Faramir dragged the tip of his nose up along Frodo's thigh, feeling the heat of his flesh through the velvet, and Frodo's laugh was almost a whimper as he buried his hands in Faramir's hair.

"Faramir," Frodo murmured, soft and sweet so that Faramir's heart trembled within him. Then he breathed deeply, and more firmly said, "We've had great good fortune to have been alone so long; someone's bound to come in soon."

"And yet, before I may release you, I must know." Faramir released Frodo's foot to plant his hands to either side of his hips and nuzzle him directly over his swelling member; when he parted his lips over the straining placket and breathed, Frodo's hands clenched in his hair to the rhythm of a stuttered moan.

"Oh, oh, Faramir!" Frodo's gasp was outmatched in beauty to Faramir's ears only by his laugh. "The Steward, so fair and mild and grave of face, and beneath it all you're wild as a tween at Lithe. Oh, we cannot here, no matter how much you make me wish to."

Faramir savored his victory, and mercifully sat back a fraction. "Then let us to bed, but first, I must know."

"Know?"

"If I am forgiven for my misstep."

"Your--? Oh, no forgive-- oh, _Faramir!_" Frodo laughed fully, and merrily, and Faramir smiled to see it, and even more at the keen look Frodo bent on him after. "You will be forgiven when, and only when, you bear me to bed and tup me till both of us are weary with delight." Imperiously nothing like a child, Frodo wound his arms around Faramir's neck, and as Faramir lifted him they sweetly kissed.

 

__***__ 

 

Faramir lay drowsing, curled round Frodo's warm damp body. He was still too thin, and he closed his eyes when Faramir brushed fingers over the scar behind his neck, but he still smiled, gently peaceful. Frodo's smile reminded Faramir of something, and he opened his eyes fully to watch Frodo's resting face. That smile called up memories in the back of his mind...

...memories of Frodo, smiling soft and peaceful then wider and consoling, a star in his hand, drawing away to show himself on a white ship like a great swan, shining as it sailed off into the sea. A dream Faramir had dreamt, more than once, one of his few troubles in these days of peace.

Faramir hoped Frodo had not felt that tremble right up until Frodo's smile twisted with rue. "You're staring at me, Faramir."

"You are beautiful, Frodo."

That earned a doubtful snort and a fondly softened smile; then, brow creasing, Frodo opened his eyes. "You aren't still thinking of those boots, are you?"

Rather than speak of what truly troubled him, Faramir nodded. "I would... I wished to find you a gift that would be of use both here and when you return to your home." Frodo watched him, smiling gently, as he strove for words. "A gift that would carry the dust and savor of the White City into the green hills and villages of the Shire. That would carry us to you."

Frodo reached up to trace three gentle fingers along the ridge of Faramir's cheek. "Thank you, Faramir, but if I bring any more gifts home with me I'll need a pack train!" Faramir could not but smile at that. "Besides... you have given me back joy. You have given me your love. What else might I have that could stand beside that?"

Faramir could not do else but kiss him, and Frodo kissed him back, slow and sweet. When their lips at last had parted, only the space of a finger's breadth, Frodo murmured, "I am going home, because I would see it again, but I will visit Minas Tirith as well, when I may."

A tiny doubtful shard of Faramir's dream pierced his heart, but he shook off the foreboding ache in favor of Frodo warm and alive in his arms, for another kiss full of peace.


End file.
